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Friday, July 01, 2016

The other day I had the pleasure of Skyping with author, marine biologist, animal lover and nice person Lynne Hinkey. Today, July 1, Casperian Books publishes her new novel, The Un-familiar: A Tale of Cats and Gods. It's funny, well written, and likely to raise a hackle or two with climate-change deniers and religious fundamentalists.

Here's the gist: "There's a beast of a storm brewing over Puerto Rico, and only a god can stop it." But in this universe, a god's existence depends upon belief. Natural disasters befall the island, and people whisper that perhaps a supernatural beast--a chupacabra--is to blame. Maybe that's just a rumor, but rumors lead to beliefs, and beliefs create more gods. In this irreverent tale, Señora Milagros and the dog-god of Mercy are two of the colorful characters you'll meet.

This is the second part of her trilogy (Ye Gods! A Tale of Dogs and Demons is first), but there's no reason you can't jump right in with The Un-familiar. Here is a small taste:

The
UN-FAMILIAR

A Tale of Cats and Gods

(Sample
Chapters)

A Chupacabra Novel

by

Lynne M. Hinkey

This is a work of fiction.
All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either fictitious or
are used fictitiously.

This free e-chapter is intended to pique your
interest and hopefully lead you to purchase the complete book to see what
happens next. If you enjoy it, please feel free to share it. Despite the many
marketing venues available to authors today, the most effective one is still
word-of-mouth. I hope you'll help me to spread the word.

You might also want to read book 1 of the
Chupacabra Trilogy, available at Amazon and other online booksellers.

The others focused their various
forms, solid and ethereal, on her, the oldest among them. Disease and Death.

She shrugged, or what passed for
such in her murky miasma of pestilence. "Without evolution, there'd be no
sentience. Without sentience, there'd be no recognition of self and other.
Without that, there is no one to blame or be afraid of but oneself. Now they
have us for that. I think it's lovely the way they've created us from a mixture
of their fears and hopes." She turned to the newcomer. "I am the
cause and the end of pain. What do you do?"

"More. I do more."

"More what?" asked the
Dark of Night. "What is the belief that brought you here?"

"More. More is better, safer.
More food provides more energy, a bigger lair offers more protection from
predators, more mates ensure more offspring. More."

The others nodded, as much as their
physical forms allowed.

"This will continue," said
the golden orb of Daylight, blurred into silhouette by her own blistering
brightness. She pointed at the newcomer. "He's the proof. They already
believe in quantity over quality. No offense," she said, eyeing the greedy
new god.

Greed glittered when he replied.
"It's what I am."

Daylight continued. "We'll have
more and more gods popping up for every little thing. Especially now that
mammals have developed abstract thought. Worse, this latest group of uprights
has learned to rationalize. They'll never take responsibility for their actions
now. It'll be 'this big, bad god made me do it' and 'I'm being an ass in the
name of that god.' Before you know it, there will be almost as many
manifestations of belief as there are believers. You know what that means,
don't you?"

"Competition." The air
swirled around them, kicked up in dirt devils when the roiling cloud of Extreme
Weather spoke. "Belief makes us stronger, so we'll all want more
believers."

"What's wrong with wanting more?"
asked Greed.

"One of us..." DD looked at each of
them in turn until her eyes settled on the newcomer. "...might get greedy.
Try to take over."

The deities gasped. "You mean a
single god?"

"Absurd."

"Horrifying."

"Unbelievable."

DD nodded. "But possible."

Extreme Weather's voice thundered:
"We must prevent it."

So it came to pass that, in a rare
moment of self-awareness, the ancient gods--charter members of the club, as it
were--recognized their own arrogance as a potential threat. They devised a
strategy to keep any one god from gaining enough belief to eliminate the rest.

"As intermediaries between us
and our followers, I think they should choose whatever form will be familiar to
our respective believers, no?" suggested Daylight.

"Familiar. I like it."

They agreed these beings, who would
both help them to achieve their full power and hinder them from overreaching,
who could regulate their power if needed, would be called familiars.

"What do we do with these
familiars when belief wanes?" asked Greed.

The god of Darkness grew darker.
"Wanes? What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. I know it's
already begun for you." Greed nudged the Dark and pointed to Fire.
"The uprights figured out how to keep you at bay and it's weakened you
some. Am I right, or am I right? It happens. But so does evolution. There'll
always be something that's afraid of the dark, so you'll always be needed.
Still, if we're, let's call it 'on hiatus' due to a lack of belief, do the
familiars die or what?"

"How about hibernation?" suggested
DD. "If we go through all the trouble to select the right ones, train them
up, bond with them, we don't just want to start over every time some fickle
followers chase after a shiny, new god." She paused and addressed Greed.
"No offense."

"None taken." More
glittering.

DD went on. "We'll allow them
to wait for our return, but in stasis."

"Even then, their bodies will
eventually wear out--that's just how physics and chemistry work," Daylight
said. "We can't change that."

Fire flickered. "I like the
idea of them going dormant to wait for us. Save on wear and tear, extend the
life of their bodies. But, the bright one has a point. They will wear out. We'd
better come up with a plan for succession, for when their bodies...retire.
Maybe even some sort of compensation package, as a reward if they served us
well."

The others agreed.

Thus, the gods created familiars.
These assistants would hold part of a god's powers, doling out additional
portions as their deity demonstrated the maturity not to abuse it. They would
help their respective gods find their true nature, but would also humble them
and snap them out of any delusions of omnipotence that might come from having
many believers.

This required familiars to have
their own abilities. The gods weren't fools, and, like anyone with power, they
were a bit paranoid. To avoid the risk of being overthrown by their aides, the
gods made the familiars' powers dependent on the physical presence, proximity,
and strength of the god they served.

"This will work." Fire
nodded.

"Evolution changes
things," said Darkness. "The uprights will find a way to fuck it up.
You just watch."

Darkness and something more enveloped her.
Something scratchy and moist like a giant cat's tongue rasped against her back
and legs. A knobby shoulder poked into her belly, jostling her back, forth, up,
and down.

Where was she? Where was he taking her? Did she
know it was a he? For that matter, who was she?

The woman made to call out, but her lips
remained shut and her cry for help turned into a squeal. Duct tape will do that
to a scream.

"It's okay, Carmen. Almost there," a
deep voice rumbled over the wind and rain.

A man. She'd gotten that part right. Was Carmen
his accomplice?

The rain stopped beating down on her. The
storm's noise muffled and grew distant. Opening her eyes wide did nothing but
confirm her predicament--bound and bagged--so she squeezed them shut again.

A disorienting flip tossed her from
his shoulder and deposited her in a soft pile of blankets on the ground. The
sodden burlap sack pulled from her head to reveal cave walls. Firelight shadows
danced over dripping yellow, brown, and green moss. She twisted and craned her
neck to see the man behind her.

The fire's flames cast his features
into an eerie, writhing orange and black mask. He turned his gaze on her and
she once more tried to scream.

"Shh. Easy, Carmen. I'll
protect you."

Protect her from what, she wondered?
Had he saved her from the raging storm? Why? What did he want in return?

"I have to go now. More work to
be done. You'll be safe here. Hurricane's almost past us, only a few more
hours." He reached for her and firelight glinted off a blade in his hand.

She shrunk away.

He grabbed her tethered wrists.
Shadow and light bathed the man in a demonic glow. The knife slashed through
the air. "There." He dangled the cut rope in front of her eyes.

Returning circulation prickled
through her fingers and up her arms. She scooted back until she bumped against
the damp wall.

"What do you want?"

"You have to help me, and I can
help you. We'll talk when I get back."

Her eyes flicked to the cave's
mouth.

"Don't try to leave. That'd be
dangerous, out in the storm. In the meantime, I need you to remember."

Sure. Easy for him to say, but she
couldn't even recall her own name. "Remember what?"

"A beginning." He laid a
hand on her head.

The tingling in her arms raced
upward, then exploded, sending her crashing back into the warm, soft pile of
blankets. And she remembered.

A blue flash rent the
time-before-time sky...

~ ~ ~

2--RAINING CATS AND DOGS

THE DOGS

Gale force winds lashed the water
and plucked the tops off breaking waves, smashing them in furious bursts
against the sea grapes and coconut palms along the shore. The storm begged the
universe to answer the age-old riddle: If a tree falls on the beach and no one
hears it over the shriek of hurricane winds, does it make a sound?

Does anyone care?

A dog cowered at the base of a tree for the
protection it failed to offer. She whimpered her last. Her broken body grew
cold and wet. Three newborn pups wiggled beneath her. The largest, a pudgy male
with black and white spots, succumbed first. With no knowledge of the world
they'd been born into and no mother to teach them, the remaining two, driven by
instinct as old as life, cried into the void for help, for mercy.

I am here, came the answer.

The lone female, the runt, small of stature but
boldest of the litter, responded: Who are you?

I am Dog. The disembodied voice chuckled at its own
joke, but the humor was lost on the pup.

Help him, please, she begged. Her brother's
last sigh blew warm across her neck. The runt felt his body grow limp.

It is done. Now move over, commanded the voice
in her head.

What?

Make room.

For what?

For me.

Why?

I have chosen you.

Why me?

Why not?

Too tired to debate and afraid of being alone,
she scrunched her consciousness into a small corner of her mind. Will it hurt?

Not at first.

~ ~ ~

SEÑORA MILAGROS

Fifi the cat yawned, mouth open so
wide her eyes scrunched closed. She extended one long, slender forelimb and
spread her toes to unsheathe razor-sharp talons. Ahhhh, her new feline form
felt so lithe. Far better than that aging human body with its aches and pains,
crackles and creaks. She brought a paw to her lips and licked at bare skin with
her smooth wet tongue.

Bare?

Smooth?

Her eyes flew open and she examined
her retractable...fingers?

She ran the tip of one over her
tongue. Soft and moist. That's not right. She wasn't Fifi the cat at all, but
Señora Milagros Isabela Hernán de Santiago. Still.

Well, shit.

What happened? Where were the dainty
cat's feet, twitching tail, and raspy tongue? She should have gone through the
change. Retired. Become Fifi, the black and white tuxedo cat. What went wrong?

Remnants of a dream tickled her
memory, one of those dreams that made her heart race. Roused by an overwhelming
fear, the feeling disappeared into a cloud of nothing the more alert she grew,
and left her with an urgent need to act, but no memory of why or how.

She concentrated, trying to grasp
some shred of the cause for her angst. A voice echoed through her, spoke
directly to her soul: You have revealed too much.

She pressed her lips together and
nodded. "I'll fix everything."

The voice, sounding very much like
her own, whispered: Better get a move on, then. You don't have much time.

What did that mean? As she pondered
the strange warning, the background noise, a din like a thousand semi-trucks
barreling down the highway, seeped into her consciousness. She cranked the
handle of the jalousie to roll the window open but something blocked the slats'
movement. She flicked the light switch. Nothing. Sniffed the stale air.

"Carmen?" she hollered and
stumbled from her room. "Carmen? Are you all right?" She threw open
the door to the spare bedroom and seeing the mound of blankets, breathed a sigh
of relief. Together, they could try to figure out what had stopped the change.

Señora Milagros laid a hand on the
lump in the middle of the bed and gave a gentle shake. The body beneath rolled
over with a groan, then bolted upright, eyes wide, and screamed.

Milagros mirrored the reaction.
Except her scream was significantly louder than the one coming from the
duct-tape-covered mouth of the woman she'd awoken. “Laurie? Why are you here?
Where’s Carmen?” She yanked at the duct tape.

Laurie Buso, Señora Milagros’
personal assistant and housekeeper, held her bound hands in front of her while
Milagros hunted for the scissors and cut her free. Laurie gathered her
composure and, with a few sporadic hiccups, began. “Un ladrón. I never saw the thief. I was bringing in the chairs from
the porch when he grabbed me from behind. He covered my mouth so I couldn’t
scream. I don't remember anything else." She scowled. "Wait. There
was a flash, like lightning, then nothing." She broke into soft sobs.
“What did he take?" She looked around the room. "Where's
Carmen?"

Milagros shook her head and absently
patted Laurie's back. Oh, dear. Losing one's apprentice couldn't be good. If
the succession of power didn't go smoothly, the results could be catastrophic.

Her own continued presence in human
form indicated it hadn't gone smoothly. It appeared to not have gone at all.
Only Carmen had gone.

Señora Milagros picked up a
newspaper from where Laurie had stacked them on the kitchen table and checked
the date. Two years. Why, that was hardly a cat nap for a familiar.

"What day is today?" she
asked.

"Tuesday, I think. That's
yesterday's paper. The last one before the storm hit. We have to call the
police."

Milagros held up the silent
receiver. "Phones are out. And this isn't the work of an ordinary thief.
The only thing missing is Carmen." She didn't add that only someone--or
some thing--with extraordinary power could take her apprentice. She'd need
extraordinary help to find her.

Scanning the headlines for news of
murders, mayhem, or dead livestock, she found nothing out of the ordinary,
aside from warnings of a category four hurricane. She picked up another paper.
Even the gossip-filled En Otras Noticias
made no mention of the chupacabra.

He had to be back. The god's return
was the only thing that could have awakened her.

Flipping to the best-seller list in
the Sunday paper, she searched for Jack Halliman's name. Where was it? While
she hadn't exactly revealed the mysteries of the universe to the author, she
had inspired his creativity. The result of that inspiration, Murder in Mayagüez, should be on the
bestsellers' list. It had to be. That had been her plan: Jack's story would get
people talking, talk would create belief, and belief would bring back the god,
sometimes known as the chupacabra.

If Jack's latest novel hadn't
created belief, how had he returned?

She flicked on the NOAA weather
radio and the robotic voice of the announcer filled the room. "Hurricane
Grace has been downgraded to a category three storm and continues to move
west-northwest away from Puerto Rico at seven miles per hour. Hurricane-force
winds extend thirty-two miles from the well-formed eye, with sustained winds of
114 miles per hour and gusts up to 140."

Even with that warning of what
awaited outside, the devastation took her breath away. Power lines and poles
down, trees stripped bare of leaves, roofs torn from houses, sofa cushions,
mattresses, and clothing strewn through the streets. A boat sat in the road in
front of her house, deposited there by the storm surge.

Tears welled in Milagros' eyes. So
many animals out in the deluge. How they must have cried for help, for mercy.
Now she understood how he had returned. He had felt his followers' belief,
heard their prayers, and answered.

Laurie stepped onto the porch next
to her and they huddled together against the gusting wind and rain, taking in
the destruction around them. A sheet of corrugated roofing flipped through the
yard. "Come in," Laurie said. "There's nothing we can do until
this passes."

Milagros fought down the frustration
and helplessness that threatened to make her do something stupid. They went
into the kitchen where Laurie busied herself setting out plates and a thermos
of tepid coffee.

"You seem no worse for the
wear. Are you sure you're not hurt?" she asked her assistant.

Laurie rolled her head from side to
side. "You know, I actually feel really good. When we catch this man, I'll
have to thank him for the good night's sleep. Before we throw him in jail...or
worse." Milagros glared, but Laurie ignored her and sliced the guava brazo
gitano, Milagros' favorite. "Eat," she commanded, and filled their
cups.

Milagros lowered her nose over the
cake and dabbed at the powdered sugar with her tongue. She sniffed at the
coffee and hissed. "Do we have any milk?"

Laurie poured her a glass. Tilting
it until the liquid ran toward her mouth, Milagros darted her tongue in and
out, lapping at it. When she noticed Laurie watching her, she set the glass
down. "I'm fine."

Laurie stared. "I thought you'd
be...more different."

Milagros shrugged. "So did I."
She wadded up a piece of paper and batted it back and forth across the table.
Something had prevented her becoming more different. But what? And why?

~
~ ~

CAPTAIN EDDIE CORREDOR

Captain Eddie Corredor tucked a
squeaking, squirming towel into the front of his coat and stepped from his car
into the rain and gusty wind. The day before, the yard in front of his condo
had overflowed with the bold colors of tropical vegetation: emerald-leafed
palms and banana trees, scarlet wild ginger, sunset-hued birds of paradise, and
a rainbow of bougainvillea. Today, all the leaves and flowers lay drowned in
puddles, stripped from their stems. Beheaded palms stretched to the angry sky,
the barren landscape naked and gray, like images of Hiroshima after the bomb.

Spying the intact roof of his condo
unit, the tension that had been with him all through the long night departed.
The neighbor's building hadn't been so lucky. Eddie shoved a sheet of
corrugated roofing aside and walked up the three steps to the small porch.
Using the crowbar he'd pulled from the trunk of his unmarked police car, he
pried a board from the doorway. "Rafael?" he called. "Rafi? You
okay? I only have a few minutes. Open up."

His pareja emerged. "Cielo."
He embraced Eddie, then pushed him to arm's length. "How are you holding
up?"

"Good. You?"

Rafi's hair, usually pulled into a
neat ponytail, haloed his face in tawny ringlets. His hazel eyes, red-rimmed
from a sleepless night, were alert and concerned, but held no sign of panic or distress.
"I'm okay. Just worried about you."

Eddie relaxed as a weight lifted
from his shoulders. Like public safety officers everywhere, in the most
dangerous of times, he had to leave his loved ones behind to serve and protect
strangers. He shoved his guilt over abandoning Rafi back into its designated
compartment in his head.

Inside, the NOAA weather radio
crackled and hissed. The forecasters' drone had become so much white noise,
Muzak to the storm's destruction. He vaguely wondered if the standard meteorologists'
college curriculum included a class to master that particular speech pattern,
devoid of intonation or interest.

"So? How is it out there?"
Rafi asked, returning Eddie's thorough scrutiny.

"A lot of structural damage,
flooding, no casualties yet." That would change. It always did, every
hurricane. Whole families would be found dead of carbon monoxide poisoning when
someone ran a car in the garage for the headlights or radio, or used a gas
stove in a boarded-up house. "Had a report that some moron headed out to
surf before dark last night and never made it home. Beach patrol's searching
for the body now."

The fabric of his coat bulged and
Eddie cradled his hand under it. Rafi pulled away.

Eddie's gaze wandered the room,
studiously avoiding eye contact with Rafi. He draped an arm nonchalantly over
the belly-level protrusion from his coat in a pose common to mothers-to-be
everywhere, but seldom, if ever, struck by fathers. "The mountains got hit
hard," he went on, ignoring Rafi's suspicious looks.

Rafi studied the squirming bulge
beneath Eddie's coat.

"We sent work crews up to the
poultry farms to help with the cleanup." Eddie continued the innocent act.
"Don't want another mess like we had after Hurricane Georges with dead
chickens contaminating water supplies." He hitched the bump under his coat
to chest level.

"Eh-ddie?" Rafi drew the
name out, pausing between syllables. "Why is your coat moving like that?
It's not a chicken, is it?"

"Don't be silly." He
forced a smile, more grimace than grin. Reaching inside the standard-issue
black slicker---Policía in reflective
chartreuse on the back--he pulled out a squirming pink ball with patches of
downy brown and black hair.

"Is that a," Rafi paused,
examining the animal, "a guinea pig?"

Eddie chuckled a deep "huh,
huh, huh," and placed the bundle snugly in Rafi's palm. "Puppy. I
went to check some reports of weird lights on the beach and found this. Mother
must've given birth during the storm. She didn't make it. Neither did the other
two pups. But this little one was squirming and squeaking away." As if it
understood, the black and brown bundle proceeded to wiggle and whimper.

"What are we going to do with--is
it macho or hembra?"

"Girl, I think. We'll keep her,
of course. What should we call her?"

"Are you kidding?" Rafi
pulled her closer, planted a kiss on her head, and cradled the tiny body in the
crook of his neck. "There's only one proper name for a pup that survives
outside in these winds."

"What's that?"

"BJ." The pup emitted a
growl that vibrated deep in Rafi's gut, the kind of rumble that made humans
imagine monsters lurking in the dark. He held her at arm's length and peered at
her closed-tight eyes. "Tranquila,
puppy. Joking. No need to go all monster on me."

"What about Grace, after the
storm?" Eddie suggested.

Rafi rolled his eyes. "There
are a thousand other babies out there being named Grace right now. Can we at
least try to be original?" He studied the small, squished face. "So
tiny. How did you ever make it through the night, little one?" The pup
opened her small pink mouth and gnawed on Rafi's finger.

"She has to be pretty fierce to
have survived that. She needs a fierce name. Tiger? Killer? Storm?" Eddie
offered.

Rafi wiggled his knuckle in front of
the puppy. "Is you twying to eat me up, you widdle monster?" She bit
down on his finger. "You are a chewy one, aren't you? How about
Chewy?" He looked into her pink
face again. "Is that all right with you, mija?"

Eddie chuckled. "I like it.
Chewy it is. Glad that's settled, and now that I know you're all right, I have
to get back to the station. Don't spoil her while I'm gone." He left.

"Wait!" Rafi called after
him, then followed outside. "What am I supposed to do with her?"

Eddie stopped half way into the car
and hollered over the wind. "It's just a dog. You'll figure it out."

~
~ ~

3--STRANGE CHANGES

CARMEN DEL TORO

What an odd dream. A land of mist
and darkness. With strange beings, neither human nor animal, but made of
feeling and emotion. Discussing...gods? Very strange indeed.

She didn't know where she was and,
come to think of it, she wasn't quite certain who she was either. She drew her
knees into her chest, tucked into a ball, and tried to recall something,
anything, about herself.

Memories slipped in and out of
focus: a red-haired lady in colorful silk scarves, jingling bangles running up
her arms. The woman had been kind, given her food and a place to sleep. Had
that been a dream, too?

Thoughts of food and drink grew into
a telltale pressure in her groin. Kicking her legs out from the tangle of
blankets, she searched the shadows until she found a spot away and downhill
from her bed, but still within reach of the gray light filtering in from the
cave's mouth. She hobbled toward it, stopped to shake the stiffness first from
one leg, then the other, squatted and relieved herself.

"That's better." Except
for her head's continued throbbing. She curled back into the blankets and
struggled to remember.

Did I do that? She gasped in horror.
A pang of remorse stabbed her chest and brought tears to her eyes. I'm a
monster. The agony of so much suffering convulsed her, but the images kept
coming.

A horse, alone and sick, pleading
for an end. Goats, half-starved. Cats, tortured, abandoned. A small dog, alone
in the storm, crying for help. She heard all of their cries.

A single word filled her and she
listened. Mercy.

Not cries. Prayers. Now the dream
made sense! They pray to me and I answer.

She bolted upright and announced,
"I am a god."

Approaching footsteps echoed in the
chamber and she scurried into the shadows.

A man stood silhouetted in the
entrance, hands on his hips. "Carmen?" he called. Then he muttered to
himself, "Now where did she get to? And what is that smell?" He
wandered through the chamber, shining a flashlight into dark recesses. "Great.
She's not even housebroken."

She frowned. Housebroken?

He swung the light around and
spotted her. "There you are." His voice rolled over her, smooth and
calm. "Come on out, Carmen. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

She inched away. A low growl
emanated from deep in her throat. Oh yes, she remembered this sound. She
growled again, louder.

He hushed and cooed, inching closer.

A snarl, starting deep in her chest,
rumbled from between her lips and echoed off the cave walls.

"Oh hell, I don't have time for
this." His arm shot out and a blue flash erupted from his fingertips.

Her world went dark.

Unsure if hours or mere seconds had
passed, she swam up from the inky depths of unconsciousness into something less
than awake. A dream, or maybe a memory. She didn't know or care which, but let
herself be swept away in the warm scents and sounds of somewhere else. A man
smelling of soap and toothpaste cradled her on his shoulder, whispering
soothing words while he stirred at a meaty-smelling concoction simmering on the
stove. "There, there, mi chiquitita,"
the man murmured. "You're safe here."

~
~ ~

RAFAEL BISHOP SOTO

"You're safe here," Rafi
whispered. He rocked to and fro, cuddling the puppy close in one hand and
stirring chicken broth with the other. "Like my abuelita always said, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. God
knows how strong I must be after all those tries. Strong like bull," he
rumbled in a deep false-bass and thumped his chest. "Your Papis won't let
anyone hurt you, not a big old storm, not anyone or anything."

The barest hint of a breeze ruffled
the air between the open front door and the kitchen window. He'd have to remove
the rest of the hurricane shutters soon or he and the dog would roast in the
tropical heat as the sun rose.

But first, he had to feed Chewy.
Rafi didn't know much about dogs, but he remembered his grandmother's words: Las penas con pan son menos. A full
belly makes everything better.

He'd been feeding her every two
hours all through the day and night since Eddie brought her home. The gas
stove's blue flame flickered under a pan of warming milk. "A little leche, a little pollo and you'll grow up to be our big strong girl." As he
spoke the words, an image of a mastiff standing at attention, legs stretched
long and head held high, filled his thoughts. "Well, maybe not quite that
big and strong." The imaginary dog shrunk to German shepherd size.
"Now that, we can work with."

He buried his nose in the puppy's
wiry hair and chuckled. In one short day, she'd worked her way into his heart,
drawing out a strong paternal instinct he didn't know he possessed. If only the
electricity would come back on so he could Google how to properly take care of
her. For now, he'd have to go purely on instinct.

Rafi wiped a drip of sweat from his
brow and jiggled the pup on his shoulder. He sang a lullaby his grandmother
used to sing to him: Mi sol sol sol sol,
No llores bien mío, No llores mas no... My sun sun sunshine, Don't cry my
dear, Don't cry any more.

The condo filled with the low,
mournful howl of a hound dog. Rafi held Chewy at arm's length. "Is that
you?" The pup blinked and yawned. As her tiny tongue curled up over her
nose, the awwwooooooo came again. This time, clearly from outside.

Rafi inched along the wall to the
door and craned his neck to peer out. In the mud-churned yard, a dozen animals
paced and circled. Species that should have been chasing one another instead
walked, or more accurately, limped, side by side. Dogs, cats, roosters, hens,
and a goat. Refugees from the storm. When he stepped into the doorway, they all
turned to face him.

"Ay, Dios mío."

He took a tentative step onto the
porch and moved a squeaking, wriggling Chewy to his other shoulder. As one, the
animals came closer. "Well, that's just creepy." The puppy whimpered
and squirmed in his arms. "Don't worry, Chew-Chew. I won't let them get
you."

He slammed the door shut and
returned to the stove. An agitated Chewy yipped soft puppy cries. "I know,
baby, you've got the hungries." He offered her an eyedropper filled with
milk, but she turned her face away.

Help
them.

His conscience? The scene in the
front yard, all those injured animals, haunted him. "I don't know what to
do for them," he said out loud. "The only pet I ever had was a
goldfish and it died." But the voice in his head demanded more.

Help. Not a plea, a command.

"Damn it." He set Chewy in
her basket of blankets, then gathered up fruits, vegetables, bread, and
leftovers for the mixed herd of animals in the yard.

Nothing unusual about this, he told
himself as a goat butted against him, its prehensile tongue curling around his
hand to get at a bit more food. Hurricanes bring out strange behaviors in
everyone--people and animals. Their owners would come looking for them soon.
Until then, they needed his help.

~
~ ~

SEÑORA MILAGROS

Workmen swarmed over the house and
yard, supervised by Laurie. Above, Señora Milagros paced the veranda, still
frustrated in her efforts to sense Carmen's or the god's presence.

Laurie barked orders, commanding the
men like a drill sergeant: "Don't leave that board here. Clean up that
mess there. I'm not paying you to sit around in the shade and drink rum. Get to
work or I'll call her out here, I swear I will." That got the men moving
double time. She muttered under her breath about good-for-nothing bums, finishing
with, "Que Dios los bendiga."
God bless them.

When Milagros asked her assistant
about the men, Laurie sniffed. "My no-good brother, brother-in-law, and
cousin. I promised my abuelita, God
rest her soul, I'd take care of the family when she was gone. Now I'm stuck
with them."

"What did you mean when you
told them you'd call 'her' out here?" Already knowing the answer, her lips
twitched with suppressed mirth.

Laurie flushed. "They listen to
the stories." Señora Milagros waited. "You know I'd never tell them anything
about you. That's nobody else's business. I just let them think what they
will."

"Which is--?"

"Yes. Witches. You know they
think that you and Craz...er, Señorita Carmen are witches. So," she
shrugged, "if it makes them work faster, I might as well use it, no?"

Milagros grinned. She'd hate to
discourage her reputation in the town. A little bit of superstition and fear
could go a long way toward protecting a woman living on her own.

Inside, she paced the living room,
picking up the phone at each pass. Still no dial tone. She switched on the
radio, scanning through the stations looking for any that had returned to the
airwaves.

A scratchy voice grew clearer as she
tuned in. "...flooding in the Midwest, wildfires in California,
hurricanes, tornadoes. These disasters are not man-made. They're a message from
a god. Repe--"

"Piddle." She flicked it
off. "If that's all there is, the battery can go ahead and die."

Laurie cleared her throat to
announce her presence. "They're about done. What else can I do?"

"Why don't you go home? I'm
sure you have things to take care of there, and I have everything I need for
now."

Laurie studied her like a specimen
under a microscope. "You're sure you'll be all right by yourself?"

"Go. I'm fine."

Alone, Milagros dropped her head in
her hands. The worry that had gnawed at her gut since waking to find Carmen
gone, left her exhausted.

Where can the girl be? Who would,
who could take her? An idea struck her, more a hope, really. Perhaps her own
retired familiar hadn't moved on yet. "Matagata? Here
kitty-kitty-kitty," she called. She dug through the kitchen drawer, found
a bag of cat treats and shook it. "Mata?" She went from room to room.

The house was silent, no thumping of
little cat feet down the hallway, no screaming demand for treats
"nee-ooow." Not that Matagata could help. She'd been in her cat form
long enough to have become completely feline, with no trace of magic or
familiarity left. Still, her presence always soothed Milagros. Like a security
blanket past its prime, the memory of its comfort surpassed the reality, but
sometimes that was enough.

If Matagata were here, what would
her former mentor say?

"Think, Milagros. You
know."

She could still hear the gravelly
voice clearly, even after almost a century.

Milagros tapped into her vast store
of divine history, part of the knowledge obtained by familiars during their
dormant period between apprenticeship and maturity--what Carmen should have
received while she'd slept. She couldn't recall a single case of a failed transformation.
If Carmen had survived the night, if she was out there, this was new, uncharted
territory.

"Start at the beginning,"
the raspy voice of a memory told her. She went into the guest bedroom, Carmen's
room. After more than twenty years, she still thought of Carmen as the little
girl she'd first met, long before Milagros had revealed Carmen's destiny as the
next familiar to the god of Mercy: a nine-year-old with a big imagination and a
fierce loyalty to her dog. Her apprentice hadn't changed much. Her delicate
body belied both her age and her strength.

Anyone who thought the girl's
diminutive size made her vulnerable or weak would be sorry. Milagros had seen
her bring a bully to his knees with a few well-placed blows. That the man had
later been killed had nothing, and everything, to do with Carmen's strength and
her loyalty to the dog.

And yet someone had been able to
take her from this very house. Someone even stronger than Carmen. The thought
sent a shiver through Milagros.

As she had done a half dozen times
since waking, she found an item of Carmen's--a shirt neatly folded on the chair
next to the bed, and rubbed her face in it, inhaling the musky smell, focusing
her thoughts on the lingering essence of the girl. "Where are you, Carmen?"
She closed her eyes and concentrated, letting the feeling of Carmen del Toro
wash over her, dimmer now than the time before, fading with the girl's scent.

Or had her own powers waned?
Milagros released a thought, a prayer, to her god. Let her be safe. Let her be
with you.

It was a futile wish. If Carmen had
found the dog, Milagros would be no more. Instead, she would be relaxing,
retired in the feline form of Fifi. No, that hadn't happened. She was on her
own until the dog got stronger and could help her search. Or, perhaps she could
recruit some help. But how to do that without revealing too much?

She pondered for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. She knew
where to turn for help.

A disturbing thought pushed its way up from her subconscious.
She pushed back, but it refused to stay put.

Her change would continue, and she had no way to prevent
it.

Contemplating her fate, she licked at one paw, er, hand,
and ran it through her hair, over one ear, and down her cheek. She had
better find them, and soon. Her retirement--and Carmen's and the god's
survival--depended on it.